Jagged Edge of Honor
by phyreblade
Summary: Jagger considers his life a series of adventures, challenges that show him for the Mandalorian he is. Cryssix is a Jedi full of doubts, uncertain of her path. Together, they may be able to find the pieces to their future. - Inspired by Habit's Consular character, Cryssix, and her possible meeting with my very own Jagger, first seen in my story "Hunting Destiny".


**Here's a brief consideration of my character of Jagger, the Mandalorian friend of Torian Cadera that I introduced in "Hunting Destiny". One of my readers supposed he'd make a good romance partner for her own Consular character, Cryssix. Despite my Consular already being involved in my "Destiny" series, I thought it would be a good pairing, between Jagger and a small Jedi girl trying to figure out her way. This was my take on their very first interaction.**

**Much appreciation to Habit, for giving me the chance to use such an awesome character as Cryssix! You were right, she fits Jagger so well!**

* * *

"How long, do you suppose, will you be able to ignore me? I can be very persistent. Annoying, even."

She didn't look at him, sat there pensive, quiet. Meditative, even. Many would assume a Jedi was naturally meditative. Cryssix usually admitted she was far from being a Jedi anyone would call _natural_. What seemed to come so simply to others, she struggled to achieve only a semblance of, and she struggled pretty regularly at it, to boot.

Case in point, sitting simply on a chair in the Med Bay section of Gaibriel's starship while she assisted in the smuggling of a troop of Mandalorians off the surface of Alderaan. Not that she'd intended to help them when she pointed out the smuggler was on the planet, retrieving a piece of cargo, he'd said. How was she to know, really, that he was familiar with this particular troop of Mandalorians? Her Masters would probably roll their eyes at that, say something sagely wise and utterly incomprehensible, like, "He regularly comports himself in underworld communities, after all."

Still. She had been truly surprised when Gaibriel called one of the Mandalorians by name, even frowning _seriously_ at him as he insisted, "Damn it, Torian! I am so going to break your ass if you end up dead here on Alderaan!"

The blond-haired Mandalorian had leaned closer to the link, until he almost shouldered her aside. But he hadn't actually touched her, either. He was balanced - completely assured and self-confident. She wondered if that was common for a Mandalorian. He grunted back at the smuggler, "You won't let it happen, Gaib. She'd never forgive you."

Gaibriel actually grinned at him and she'd realized he was fond of the warrior, no matter what words he actually used, "Yer still an asshole. Just give me your coordinates. We're docked nearby some baron's secret hideout in the Juran mountains, can meet you in hours. Have to move fast! Gods, you know how many spaceports would be closed to me if it was discovered I got you off-planet?"

"Never took you for worrying over being caught. You _are_ a smuggler, right?"

Gaib didn't ask about her, mind you. No, the smuggler seemed undaunted at the sight of her surrounded and pretty much captured by a bunch of Mandalorians. She wondered if it had been a cool surety in her ability to overcome the warriors. Or, rather, some blasé belief they'd not really hurt her. Probably the latter. Not the first time she wondered after her place, her purpose. As if her abilities, impressive as they might be, were the breadth of reason for her to follow the rules and directions of an Order she doubted, even feared at times. Maybe likely the Jedi persisted with her, because of the inherent threat she posed, rather than any real regard.

But she was certain, nonetheless, that Gaibriel's concern, at least for the Mando - that was real enough. She'd wondered why, wondered who _she_ was, why Gaibriel would worry over the opinions of a woman who seemed to belong to some other man. But it was obvious his worry was real enough, even if he smiled and laughed as he went along. He'd stopped everything and jumped to reach them, anyway.

"Oh, no. You're back. Don't you have someone else you can go prodding after with your supposed 'Jedi powers'?" Jagger's gruff-sounding voice broke through her thoughts suddenly.

Cryssix glanced towards the cushioned table top where Jagger was cringing backwards, trying to avoid the Mon Calamari who'd lifted some sort of medical device she didn't recognize – probably something Gaibriel had fabricated, actually – to use against Jagger's broken leg. Gus warbled some happy sounds as he darted and weaved against the side of the table, until he'd finally trapped Jagger into place. The green-skinned Mandalorian sighed loudly, "Didn't you knit the bones the first time?"

Gus ignored him as simply as Cryssix did, in fact. He turned his large fish-like head towards her, rather. She thought he might be smiling at her, but he only snuffled, "An adventure of sorts, huh?"

She blinked at him through her shining red eyes. She felt the remaining edge of bitter self-recrimination sliding only barely over her awareness. She may be terrible when it came to quiet meditation. But she was far from stupid. Sometimes it was just better to deny one's bad feelings. "Is that what you call this course I'm floundering my way along?"

He shrugged, his breath making that strange wet spulching sound which was so common to the Mon Calamari people. "Better to call it an adventure than a disaster."

"Call it what you will, it doesn't change what it is."

He glanced at her. Seriously, was the way his mouth changed shape a smile, or not? How was she supposed to tell? "Jedi wisdom?"

"I'm quite certain there are several Jedi masters who would be impressed. Mostly that I offered it, mind you. They'd say I'm 'at last coming to understand'. Or perhaps they'd only be glad my curiosity had finally become stifled behind what only seems to be apprehension." She looked towards Jagger, watching him slip into a light doze. "You've medicated him?"

"Oh. Well, yes. He needs to sleep," Gus leaned over the Mandalorian again. He poked him several times, testing him for awareness most likely. "Gaib said he was 'overly interested' with you, which was keeping him from sleeping. I thought he might be guarding you. Like a prisoner, maybe. But I don't think that's what Gaib meant. Humans are funny."

She felt a spurt of amusement, smiled as she looked at Jagger. "That would depend on the human, I think. Although I agree, that the captain is a very funny human. If you'd like, I'll keep a close eye on the warrior's healing for now."

"Yea, Gaib said you're pretty good at it. It's a Jedi thing, I told him. Wish I'd been a better Jedi," he sighed. "Well, okay then. I'll take a look at these other fellows," Gus spun on his webbed feet to consider the other injured Mandalorians gathered together in the Bay. Cryssix noticed several of them actually blanched as he looked over at them. She bit her lip softly, trying to hide her amusement.

Cryssix looked away, glancing down at Jagger again. She knew he wasn't really asleep, even though she could sense his weariness. He'd refused any sort of treatment until the other warriors were cared for first, saying their needs were greater than his own, and never mind the horrible pain he'd suffered since the fall that broke his leg so badly. He confused her with such demonstrations, showing again and again that these mercenaries were more than the sum stories she'd been told, that they weren't so much the violent killers, the bullies, the greedy opportunists that she'd been told. She watched his lip twitch only vaguely, knew he was pretending to doze to keep Gus from returning to fuss over him, and she settled down next to him again.

He fascinated her.

She'd been watching him since she realized his skin was an even darker green than her own. Not that she'd noticed, until after she discerned the slender slivers of bone that protruded through the skin of his lower leg. How he'd managed it – managed to get back to his feet and move, on such a broken limb, all the way around the building to find that particular doorway – she'd been amazed to see him standing there, unconcerned after being force-pushed out the windows, straight back out the same window he'd come crashing his way through, in fact. She'd assumed he died when Master Borus pushed him, marveled that he yelled angry curse words as he fell, rather than anything of fear.

But it wasn't until he'd come around and through the doors that she'd seen his green skin. Before that, his face and figure had been completely obscured behind the hard iron plates of his armor and helmet.

And he moved so quickly, broken leg or not. It was incredible! She wasn't able to yell out a single shout of warning before he was leaping towards the Senator's back. Senator Burnes was even more shocked than she was, so that he screamed out - a shrill, panicked wail that lifted towards the rafters of the estate's high room.

Cryssix had stood there, shocked, staring at him, looking at the pointed edge of the Mandalorian blade sticking out through the center of the Senator's chest, with his blood gleaming there at the end of its very sharp tip. She could see the blood running down the man's dying chest, spilling onto the floor. It dripped, there, and she'd caught sight of the warrior's leg from behind the pool of gathering blood, saw the ripped edges of green skin against white pieces of broken bone and a rough edge of Mandalorian armor. She raised her gaze to Jagger's helmeted face, knew he was watching her, wondered what he was thinking, if he'd kill her, too. But he only yanked loose his blade, leaving the Senator to sink down into a heap there on the floor.

She didn't truly mourn the Senator's death. He'd proved a singularly unpleasant individual who'd whined repeatedly over the number of swoop race wagers he wasn't able to participate in, all because, as he put it, "Some bullying Imperial wannabe-Lord wanted me to tell him everything." A lie, of course. It had prompted Master Borus to assure her, when it is she'd asked, telling her, "_Every life is scared, every man, every person is worthy of our protection and, if need be, our sacrifice. Do not doubt it, young one._" Cryssix frowned again, remembering.

Oh, it didn't really bother her, that the Senator lied. She'd come to expect Senators to lie – such a simple fact, like saying, "Water is wet." So it didn't truly offend her that Burnes had fabricated some scenario to obscure his very real betrayal of the Republic, his agreement to sell secrets to a Sith Lord called Rathari, there on Nar Shaddaa. All to secure the debts he owed for his gambling habit. He would've most likely continued the transactions for some time more, if the Sith hadn't fallen out of favor with Dromund Kaas, actually. The Senator had thought to turn the Sith's misfortune to his own benefit, had threatened Rathari. Blackmail. A stupid motion, one that painted a rather large target onto his very own forehead. Even hiding, Rathari had ties and protections that earned Burnes an ignoble death.

No, what truly perturbed her was that the Jedi would condone such actions, would protect such a man. They'd even allowed Jedi blood to be spilled in his defense, declaring to her that his position as a Senator was worthy of respect even if his actions were not. Burnes had hardly appreciated them for their defense, either. He'd only _used_ them, even taunted the warriors chasing him, "You see? Doesn't matter, not a bit! I'm a member of the Senate, that's all that counts. Fight through them to get me, hah!" The satisfaction she'd felt, watching him pale as they did just that, as they swept through the soldiers and Jedi who stood in the way, fighting steadily towards Burnes - that was heady. He'd finally taken to caterwauling in terrible dismay, until she'd actually been almost glad when the windows had burst wide as Mandalorians came swinging into the room.

And, truly, what did it say, that she'd been happy enough to be rid of the Senator she nearly cheered the warriors who'd come through the windows?

Master Borus hadn't shared her feelings. He'd growled instead, sounding near cursing as he stalked forward to meet them, "Mandalorians." The bitterness of his feelings was almost overwhelming, sparking harsh memories that left Cryssix gasping.

She just panted, remembering another harsh, bitter tone, whispered threats and angry tirades against a neighboring people she only vaguely recalled - not hers, she'd yelled, screaming out. But the man with burning eyes, looking at her, watching her - swearing at her, "_Look at her! So close to them, she has to be one! A damned Mandalorian dog, whelped from them_!" - he'd not understood, not even cared what was true, what was real! He was lost to the darkness. And she was in the way! Then burning pain, cruel, terrible pain that slashed and twisted against her face, her neck! She shook her head, refusing the memory, denying it.

That's when Borus flung his hands up again, twisting his fingers sharply to send the force flying against one of the men who'd come through the windows. The Mandalorian next to him yelled out, "Jagger! Catch him .. no!" He tried to reach out towards the man's flying figure, flailing desperately for him as he went through the window. It had confused her, that angry fear of his that indicated care, a real concern for the welfare of a friend, a compatriot. Why would a savage, uncaring people fear for their comrades?

But Borus was already leaping at him, his lightsaber flaring as he sailed through the air. The sound of Borus' robes whipping around him was warning enough, so that the man he was intent on destroying was already turning to meet him. He braced his booted feet against the floor, raising up the long handle of the rifle he was carrying as Borus landed in front of him. The Jedi's lightsaber came down in an arch of motion, neatly slicing through the Mandalorian's weapon until the thing came apart in two different parts that he held in each one of his hands.

The Mandalorian yelled at him, tossing aside his broken rifle so he could yank free a long-handled blade that gleamed brightly in the light coming in from the shattered windows, shouting out using words Cryssix couldn't understand. Their native language, she assumed. Not that she could discern much more of their species than the humanoid shape of their forms, not when they were all covered by the hard metals of their armor. But they moved in coordinated synchronization, tumbling into what she assumed were predetermined positions in response to the shouts and tells of the man she'd realized was their leader.

And he held his own against Master Borus! Cryssix was amazed, actually, as the two men skirted back and forth in front of the windows. Master Borus' lightsaber trilled its dangerous song, spitting measured blows against the warrior. But nothing he did manage to make any sort of significant strike against the Mandalorian, who met each motion the Jedi made with a complimentary defense. She marveled at the flash of the Mandalorian's blade, the sing-song flair of reflected light from the thing whenever the two weapons came together in a clash. And the Mandalorian blade wasn't broken or even damaged by Master Borus' lightsaber, either. Incredible. She was so damn slow to understand, really, that the Mandalorians were only stalling for time, diverting their attention. They were only distracting the Jedi, who assumed their fellow was downed, too broken to act.

Waiting for Jagger, it turned out. Broken leg, or not. They'd known he'd make his way back to the fight.

Cryssix closed her eyes, now, trying hard to concentrate on the rote routine of the Jedi Code rather than the burning sense of disappointment that ached through her. She could almost hear the smooth cadence of Master Shan intoning the words. Never failed to leave her yawning, actually. And she needed that, needed some kind of rest. If she could lose herself in the sheer boredom of trying to understand that blathering bit of inanity, maybe she'd find some negligible peace sitting there on the chair beside the same Mandalorian who'd grabbed and held her while Borus lost himself in hate-filled darkness, there in that room where Burnes' blood spilled.

So she mentally played the code through her mind, remembering, "_There is no emotion, there is only peace._"

But it only made her feel even more frustrated. Especially as she remembered how every one of the requests she made for understanding the mantra, every question she posed to whatever master she could was always met with some superficial nod. Nearly a pat on the head! And just maybe something patently absurd, like, "_Only accept it and you will see_."

Honestly, how can any person exist without emotion, without feeling … anything? Are there such beings? Germs, perhaps. Microbes that flit their way through various soils on countless worlds, maybe. But even those less sentient creatures – bluurgs, domesticated cats and dogs … monkey-lizards, even! – they all felt emotions. Why teach that emotion didn't exist, when it so patently existed everywhere you looked, everywhere you turned? Master Brye only told her she didn't truly understand the meaning of the Code, that she should study it in greater depth. How much, though? For how long? Forever? He'd nodded at her, his expression utterly serene, as always, "_One must never stop seeking understanding._"

She wondered how much of his understanding was real. How much was hidden behind a mask, like the one that covered the pits where his eyes should be. Was the supposed peace he described to her only an illusion, really? Like the one she showed them all, every day, carefully hiding the maelstrom of fear and doubt that she struggled with so constantly.

What good was meditation in the force of such unbelief?

"Maybe you're just trying too hard. When it becomes work, a real exercise, and one you don't particularly like, yer too easily disturbed, I would think."

Cryssix slowly opened her eyes, looking at him. Jagger was lying on his side, his injured limb carefully hiked up to rest on a small pillow. His hair was vividly black, hung long and straight against the back of his neck. It almost gleamed in the low light of the Med Bay. But this was the first time she'd been able to really examine his face, although she could still make out the curves of his helmet on the shelf just behind the table where he rested. Jagger's eyes were brightly green, glittering. She'd once observed a dignitary visiting Coruscant bedecked in a fringed headdress that glimmered with Sasho gems gathered by natives on Baralou.

Jagger's eyes flashed at her, the way those gems had flashed against the woman's dark hair. It didn't help, that her gaze was drawn particularly to the look in his eyes by the dusky gold swirls of a tattoo that curled against his jaw before sweeping in an arch over the angle of his brow. A cat's claw, is what the marks seemed to portray. Like some wild beast was holding onto him, always. Hardly a traditional Mirialan symbol, she thought.

She moved before thinking, reaching out to touch a single finger against the tattoo that curved around the glorious gem of his eye. "What does it mean to you?"

Jagger sucked in a breath when she touched him, held it. "Mark of a hunter. Best times, hunting with my brothers."

She glanced sideways, looking over towards the other Mandalorians. None of them seemed offended, not by her presence. Nor even the force ability that was so much a part of her, the fact she was Jedi. Although she knew they watched, guarded each other. Guarded Jagger. She looked back at him, saw he was smiling lightly. She frowned, "I don't believe you're actually related to them."

Jagger grinned widely, then, "Yea, none of them were lucky enough to come from a _buir_ with such pretty skin as mine. Doesn't make them any less my brothers."

She leaned her head sideways, consideringly, "A _buir_ is … a mother?"

"Or father. Word is the same."

She looked at him with a bewildered expression. He very nearly laughed, if only because she'd looked at him with that same frown at least a good dozen times so far. And they'd just met! He wondered if she was aware of her habit of catching her plump lower lip between her teeth every time she looked at him like that. He grinned at her, thinking how cute she was, with her pert little features, all framed by her braided hair, the dark brown edges actually curling against the green curve of her pretty jaw.

She pulled back, settling her perfect little ass – the one he'd admired even as he leaped painfully across the room to kill that loudmouthed Sentator – right back into the chair next to the table where he was resting. He liked that she stayed close. She was frowning at him again, "You don't make any sense."

He couldn't help but laugh loudly, then. His brothers called out several joking admonishments that he shut up, but Corridan only smirked over towards him. Jagger shook his head towards his _alor'ad_, shrugging lightly. Not like he ever knew what he was doing, even as he went along, anyway. He'd approach the pretty Jedi like the pretty, puzzling adventure that she was, of course. "You're not the first one to tell me so, little Jedi."

She crossed her arms over her abdomen, watching him with curiosity. "Mandalorians are supposed to be violent, dangerous. They care only for the next battle, the next confrontation. They have no respect for home, for hearth. Just killing, war … destruction. They're greedy for it."

His green lips twisted into a sardonic grin, looking at her like she was a small child utterly naïve and innocent of the simplest rules. Like someone needing instruction. She actually felt discomfited under that gaze of his. "Maybe what we respect as home is only different than what you think."

She thought. "You don't deny the Mandalorian affinity for violence."

Jagger shrugged, "Jedi deny it in themselves, don't they? They lie that way. The truth is, that all people are prone to violence. Mandalorians, rather, accept that it's battle that provides growth, that it offers potential for betterment. It's a challenge, an adversity - without it, you stagnate. There's no life, nothing worth living for like that."

Cryssix looked away from him, glancing at the other Mandalorians. Several of the warriors had fallen asleep, literally propped up against each other. One of the sleeping warriors was snoring loudly, but no one complained or otherwise disturbed him. A couple of men were rolling a set of dice back and forth across the floor, chuckling softly as they competed with each other. Corridan had leaned his head back against the edge of the table to doze, the bruise that blotted the side of his head looking swollen and black even from across the room.

She heaved a tired sound, "I killed Master Borus. He'd fallen into the Dark Side of the Force, there. So I killed him. I'm sorry for it, regret the need to do it. But I'm angry, too. Angry that he failed. Which makes me worry I could fall as easily as he did. Perhaps if I'd seen him the way you see each other - if I'd never thought of him as just some other Jedi, rather that he was a brother to me - well, then maybe I wouldn't feel this way."

Jagger was quiet for a time. As if he sensed her need for his silence, more than any kind of platitude. Quiet, more than any comfort. He finally lay back against the cushions of the table, closing his eyes as if preparing to sleep. She thought maybe he'd ignore her as utterly as she'd ignored him during the long hours since they'd made their way to Gaibriel's ship. But he finally murmured to her, "You should've let Torian finish it. He was going to, could've done it simply enough even as he guarded Mister Hard-Head over there from taking another blow to his thick skull. It's why he knocked the Jedi off his feet."

Cryssix shook her head, "Master Borus was far stronger, having given in to his hatred like that. He was far more dangerous. Taking on that kind of raw Force power - no, it was my task."

Jagger opened his eyes, staring up towards the ceiling of the Med Bay. He didn't look at her as he supposed, "Well then. Either you're a far better Jedi than you think. Or you're no Jedi at all but a force-sensitive Mandalorian, rather. Only you have the strength to know which, in the end." Then he turned his head away, falling asleep so fast she wondered how much medicine the Mon Calamari had pumped into his system. But she only sat there, quietly watching him through the night.


End file.
